


In The Woods Somewhere

by Eudaimonias_Revenge



Series: Ariadne and Theseus [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Hermione Granger, Dark Arts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, Secret Relationship, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:00:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eudaimonias_Revenge/pseuds/Eudaimonias_Revenge
Summary: Hermione is perplexed by the new crime scene in Italy and finally asks Draco for help. When the weekend arrives, she makes a house call to her dear friend Ginny before making a late-night visit to Malfoy Manor."I clutched my lifeAnd wished it keptMy dearest love, I'm not done yetHow many yearsI know I'll bearI found something in the woods somewhere"
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas
Series: Ariadne and Theseus [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880461
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	In The Woods Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

> Maaaaaan... I've been sitting on this chapter for a WHILE. I don't know why I do that. I guess it's just to be sure I've thought of everything. I hope you enjoy this third installment! More answers, and yet more questions.

"Can you believe this shite?" Dean asked when the group of detectives filed into the lift at half-past six, thirty minutes after Hermione and Draco had awoken to Harry's message.

The Head of Homicide had jumped from Draco's bed, grabbed and donned her clothes, and told the blonde that she'd meet him in the hall near the other rooms while she ran out the door. Since it had been so early, Hermione had had to use the lift to her room rather than Disapparate, and that had given her time to start wrapping her mind around what had happened the night before when she'd fallen asleep in Draco's arms. The brunette had also sent Patronus messages to the rest of the team, all while she was mentally playing back the moments that Draco had her by the hair, pushing himself into her throat. 

She'd made it back to her room without seeing another soul, showered, and gotten ready for the day while simultaneously packing, the witch casting an uncountable amount of spells and charms to walk out of her door looking fresh and rested just as Draco made to stand before Rosalind's door.

It took all of her willpower to behave normally when the group met in the hall. Now that they were on the lift on their way to a fresh crime scene, she and Draco standing as far away from one another as possible, which was the status quo, all she could think about was how she couldn't believe she'd shagged him again. She couldn't believe she'd let him do the things to her he had. She must have lost her mind. It was the case to blame for her willingness to shag Draco Malfoy twice in as many days. It had forced them into proximity. The explosion of emotions was bound to happen, and being alone was all it took to take the passionate hatred they had for each other and alter it.

And, Christ, what an alteration. She'd let him give her multiple orgasms, and she'd loved every minute of it. Every rough touch, every bruising bite, every filthy word, crushing kiss. Every inch of his cock. She'd never felt so stretched and filled and satisfied.

The witch bit back a whine of frustration as she felt a heat spread from her core to the tips of her fingers and toes. When her arse clenched at the ghost of his cock stretching it open, she mentally shook herself. She needed to focus, and the thoughts she was having were bound to make that task difficult.

"I knew this was going to happen," Dean went on as the doors closed. "Kuznetsov didn't want to comply with our coming here. I swear it was him who denied us looking at Arlov's body days ago. We could have had more information already and possibly avoided this."

"We're going to stop the killer before it happens again," Draco said. "Hermione and I have a lead. Is there any way you could get us in touch with the healer in Bray-Dunes?"

Everyone in the lift turned to give Draco a quizzical or surprised look, probably because he used her first name. Dean was especially perplexed, glancing between them with a lifted brow. Hermione looked surprised herself, for that had been the first time he'd said her first name in front of other people. 

"Yeah," Dean said, losing his expression of confusion. "What are you thinking? That they are the killer?"

"All we know is that Coddling went on holiday to Bray-Dunes just before he died. We also know that the healer went on holiday around the same time, and we don't know where."

"Was her name on the Portkey logs, 'Mione?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. But we'll need the Portkey logs for France as well if you can request that for us."

"Of course," Dean said. After a few seconds, he added, "You know, they could be using black market Portkeys. Ron busted that bloke a few months back who said the underground Key game was thriving."

"Well that would just fuck us," Malfoy said, frowning. 

"Not if we can find the person who sold it to the killer," Hermione said. "We need a description of the Bray-Dunes healer. We need to talk to her the second we're back from Italy. Dean, I need you to reach out to Inspector Garne and get any information you can."

"Gladly, 'Mione. Gladly, indeed, because Seamus is not liking these nights away."

"He can't spare his husband a few nights while we catch a murderer?"

"He can't. I think he'd slap the queen if it meant I'd be home every night."

"I could see him doing that for kicks," Hermione said with a smirk.

Dran returned the look, saying, "As can I."

****

The scene was deep within the Bosco della Martese in Abruzzo. A Muggle camper had found the body while walking to use the loo in the middle of the night. It had taken a few hours for the news to travel from Muggle law enforcement to Wizard, and after all of the Muggles' memories had been wiped, Italy had informed England.

Harry was there when the group arrived, having side-alonged with one Chief Officer Bruni. The Head of the British DMLE stood with his hair in wild disarray, his uniform perfectly pressed, and a grim expression on his face. When the group drew closer, he said, "Good morning to you all. I hope you got enough sleep because I have a feeling none of us will be getting much after this one."

"That bad?" Dean asked. Harry nodded, then tilted his head in the direction he was going to be leading them, the six newcomers listening as their boss gave them the rundown.

"It's that bad. The killer seems to be growing angry, perhaps frustrated. Desperate even. I think they're changing their brand, and we could be seeing our killer's evolution. We still have no positive ID on the victim, considering he's nude, but he wasn't killed in his home like the rest. 

"Now I know," Harry went on, "that the Heads can handle this, but if you three," he looked to Killian, Rosalind, and Larse, "are unable to stomach it, I wouldn't blame you. Pictures rarely do the real thing justice. Believe me."

Hermione glanced to Killian, who looked ready, and whom she felt was ready. He'd been at her side for two years. He'd seen plenty of murder scenes. Larse and Rosalind, however, looked apprehensive. Though Draco's department saw plenty of cases, never before had they been asked to visit murder scenes. There hadn't been any murders in the past year that were tied to the Dark Arts. There had been accidental deaths from one poor soul touching the wrong cursed artifact or using the wrong spell, but carnage..? To say the least, Hermione worried for the assistants. They were both old enough to remember the war but had been lucky enough to be spared the brutality of it.

The Brits began to walk towards the scene for a few minutes, looking at all trees they passed. From every tree as far as Hermione could see hung dried herbs and flowers, all of the different varieties. In every trunk, ten to thirty runes were scorched into the bark; the smell of fire and blood was strong and familiar.

When the sound of Larse gagging reached Hermione's ears, she took no pleasure in it. A worse person may have laughed at him as he turned and walked away, but she could not. 

It being half-passed seven, the fresh, early-morning sun juxtaposed the horror before them. Where there was fresh dew, drops of blood mixed, where there was soft earth with bits of flesh. Where once would have been a man, hung by his wrists was a morbidly disfigured corpse, and below his feet, which were but inches from the ground, was an altar made of sand and salt, stones and candles, blood and mud. In his chest was an athame, the hilt small and gold and glittered in the morning rays, the blade sunk into the chest.

"Fuck me," Dean breathed loudly, disbelief in his voice. 

Hermione nodded, unable to form words as she began to walk around the diameter of the salt circle that contained the blood altar. Draco walked along the other side, and the two came to stop on the opposite side of Harry and the rest, standing shoulder to shoulder as they looked up at the body.

"Fucking brutal," Draco said to her, and she nodded.

"At least. I wonder why they would hang him from his wrists like that."

"At this point, I'm sure they're experimenting with different spells, but which ones, I cannot say. To suspend someone off of the ground ofttimes signifies ascension, or even offering."

"Offering, you say?" 

"Mh-hm." He nodded and looked down at her, and she up at him, and she bit her lip to keep herself from returning the smirk he gave her. It wasn't a spiteful or sardonic smirk; it was more playful if anything. 

Leave it to Draco Malfoy to be playful while a man was hanging from a tree beside him. 

Hermione looked to the group on the other side of the scene, and noticed the array of looks the two were getting from their fellow Brits, so very similar to the ones Draco had earned on the lift. Rosalind and Killian both had raised brows, Dean was giving them a look of suspicion, and Harry was smiling, as if the sight of the two of them not yelling at each other was a proud moment, as if he were a mum watching their pair of troubled children finally play together.

She looked back to Draco and found him frowning, for what reason, she didn’t know, but she frowned back at him, turned on her heel, and made her way back to her teammates. 

When she reached Harry, she asked, "Have you spoken to Italy's Minister yet?"

"I haven't. But when I leave here I will be going to see her. Is there anything you need?"

"Yes. A list of all of their healers. Tell her it's procedure."

He tilted his head at her. "What's it really for?"

Hermione gave Harry the rundown on what she and Draco had been talking about the night before. He agreed that Draco's hunch seemed worthy of looking into, and agreed to get her what she needed.

But, before he could divert his attention, he asked, "So are you and Draco learning to finally work together?"

Hermione didn't want to lie to Harry, but telling him the truth too soon would only exacerbate things. So, she said, "Not quite. He just so happened to have a theory that could crack this case."

"Well, I like it. I was beginning to wonder when one of you would curse the other. Or when you'd slap him again. I figured it was only a matter of time. But I'm happy to be wrong because I'd hate to have to suspend you in the middle of this. After all, I would have to." These were all things he’d said before, so he looked back to the scene, and Hermione allowed herself a second where she pulled a guilty face before mentally wiping it away. "If anyone can crack this case, it would be you two. And working together will only make it go faster. Oh! And before I go, Ginny has told me to tell you that you have to visit her as soon as you are able. She wants to hear about Greece."

Hermione sighed. Greece seemed like ages ago. It had only been four very long days.

"I will be by to see her tomorrow. It's pub night, right?" She asked.

He nodded. "It sure is. Dean and Seamus are coming this time around."

"Really?"

"Really. He's been quite busy the past few months."

"I'm rooting for solving.”

Harry smiled and squeezed her upper arm affectionately, saying, "Get to it, then. Shacklebolt is keen on bringing the killer in. Possibly even more so than me. But we both know you can do this."

"Thank you, Harry." She would have hugged him, but it wasn't professional, especially in a foreign country. And even though they never hugged in public, their countrymen would think nothing of it.

“Oh! On a side note, Dean told me about a certain Inspector who took a fancy to you,” Harry said, smiling mischievously.

“Thomas," Hermione growled at Dean, who turned to her with a cheeky grin before turning back to the inspector he was talking to. “It’s nothing, Harry.”

“Well, once this case is closed, and you are no longer working together, I think you should make it something.”

Hermione gave him a look, which did not damper his smile, and said, “I don’t think he and I are compatible.”

A flash of Draco eating her pussy until she came flashed into her mind, and she blinked it away quickly.

“Why is that always your answer?” Harry asked, pulling Hermione's attention back to him.

“And why is it that you and your wife are so keen on setting me up with someone?”

“Because there is more to life than work, ‘Mione. You deserve to be happy outside of MLE.”

Hermione thought back to the night before, to Draco, and how she had been happy to sleep beside him, and how comfortable and… right it had felt to do so.

She mentally shook herself, surprised at this realization, and answered, “This is true. But I can’t think of things like that right now.”

“I agree. I’ll let you get back to it. Report to me as soon as you are able. We need to catch this bastard.”

Hermione nodded at her boss, and Harry walked over to Chief Officer Bruni. Hermione walked to Killian, and the two began their investigation, working closely with the Italian Aurors to gather evidence. But an hour later brought a surprise visitor, much to Hermione's chagrin.

Inspector Federova walked into the clearing from the Apparation point, all shiny black boots, perfectly pressed uniform, and straight-backed decorum, hat in place. Hermione watched as the Russian walked to Harry, saluting him as he came to a stop. She couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but when Harry spoke her name, it was clear as day. Her boss pointed in her direction, and Federova looked around until his eyes fell on her.

He gave Harry a brisk nod, excusing himself, and then he walked around the crime scene to stand before her. He didn't even flinch at the body in the tree, as if he saw such things every day.

Federova gave a small smile, saying, "Good morning, Inspector Granger. I hope your stay in Moscow was to your liking."

Hermione returned his smile a tad uneasily, replying, "Um. Yes. I… I, uh, slept very well." This was true. She didn't remember her dream, and she probably would have slept through to her alarm had Harry not sent a Patronus.

"Splendid," he said, his face returning to its usually stern expression. "I come with a report from last night's guard duty on the morgue. I am also here with my team to help. Kuznetsov has seen reason, and agrees that we should be doing what we can to close these cases."

The witch felt a familiar presence walk up behind her as she said, "We will gladly take your help. Did anything happen in the morgue last night?" Hermione was anxious to know if Draco's hunch was correct.

"There were no suspicious visitors. Only Healer Katina."

Draco came around to stand beside her, and at the same time Hermione asked, "The one who was sick?", and Draco asked, "At what time?"

Federova looked between them strangely, but answered, "Yes, and five this morning."

Hermione, "Is Arlov still there?"; Draco, "Is she still there?"

"Yes, and no. He is scheduled to be reburied in a little over an hour, and Katina turned in her letter of resignation this morning."

The two Heads looked to one another, understanding evident in their eyes.

Hermione turned to Killian, and Draco to Rosalind, both instructing their seconds on what to do in their absence, even though both had seen enough of the sacrificial crime scenes to know the protocols. The Head of Homicide then told Harry that she and Draco were going to head back to Moscow for a short time, checking in on a lead.

“I’ll join you, and assist in any way I can,” Federova said, and though Hermione, for a second, thought to tell him no, better judgment ruled out that he should be there, just in case they needed a Russian Auror to back them up.

Seconds later, the three were sprinting away from the scene to the Disapparation point, Draco grabbing her by the hand, and she grabbing Federova by the elbow, as they Dissapareted to the Ministry building in Rome, then running as fast and as safely as they could down to the Portkey office.

Once Hermione had requested the expediated Portkey, she walked back to where Federova and Draco stood. The blonde asked, "No fucking way, right? Could it be Katina and not Poitier?"

"If there is a new rune, I'm going to say yes, it's Katina. But I think we should still interview Poitier."

"Probably," Draco said, his brows knitted in thought. 

"Who is Poitier?" Federova asked.

The Portkey they requested took fifteen minutes to prepare, leaving the three to speculate openly as if they'd all been friendly work partners for years. Even Draco and Federova seemed to put whatever animosity they'd shared before aside once the Dark Arts Head told the Russian about his theory. Hermione hardly thought about her dynamic with the blonde, for there were more important things to focus on.

"It's bloody suspicious that she would turn in her letter of resignation at five in the morning," Draco said. "I feel like that's highly suspect."

"Agreed," Hermione said. 

"It's either she's guilty, or she fears confrontation and wanted to do it while her supervisor was away," Federova offered up, obviously not one to jump to sudden conclusions without thinking of all possibilities. Hermione could sympathize with that. That's what made her so good at her job, but there was something about this that nagged at her. And at Draco.

"That's possible," Draco consented. "But we're going to check either way. The presence of a rune will be our true evidence."

"Hermione Granger," the office witch called. "Your Portkey is ready."

Once they arrived, it was another race to the morgue in Moscow, the three weaving in and out of people as they traversed the giant building, witches and wizards looking at them strangely. But they didn't want to miss the opportunity to inspect Arlov one last time. 

They made it as two healers were Levitating Arlov from the morgue to be transported. The look the two healers gave Hermione as she pulled back the sheet right there in the hallway was missed by the witch as she began to inspect the corpse. They said something quickly and loudly to her in Russian, which Federova responded to, motioning for his countrymen to move back and give her room. 

After checking Arlov's chest and back, she began to think she'd been wrong. And when she checked his legs and found them free of scarred runes, she furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Here it is," Draco said, the man having lifted Arlov's dark hair up and away from the back of his neck. Behind his ear was a scarred rune, and Hermione went into boss mode.

"I need your camera. Now," she said to one of the healers. "I need you to question the healers who have been on duty since I left yesterday at noon, and send a squad to Katina's house to detain her for questioning," she said to Federova, who nodded and instantly turned to the healers to instruct them. "And I need you to-" she paused as she turned to Draco, but stopped. 

He'd told her, the night before, that there was only one scenario in which she was allowed to boss him, and, at the moment, both of them had their clothes on.

A second passed in which Draco seemed to realize what she was thinking, and rolled his eyes before asking, "What do you need from me, Granger?"

A small smile took her, and he smirked at her before she stilled her expression to say, "Will you help me prepare some questions for Katina's interrogation?"

He looked taken aback at her request, but she didn't think the idea so farfetched. He was the Dark Arts Head after all. There were things he would think of asking that she may not have considered.

Eventually, he nodded his head shallowly, saying, "Of course."

"Splendid. Federova," she turned to the helpful Russian, who looked at the ready, "May we use your office?"

He nodded. "This way."

Federova showed them to his modest corner office, showing them where the things they might need were, before leaving to do as she had requested. 

The two Heads worked together well the next two hours that they were alone in Federova's office, and unlike the last few times they'd been alone, there was nothing intimate involved. They stayed on opposite sides of the desk as they accumulated questions that could make or break their case, the witch indeed learning from Draco as he posed questions from his perspective. But the air was in no way hostile. They didn't fight once, the both of them so focused on their goal they didn't have any interest in harassing the other.

But, all of this turned out to be, mostly, for naught. The two hours spent amicably working side by side was worth it in that fact alone, for Federova returned with disappointing news. 

The Inspector walked through the door quickly, stopping beside the desk to announce, "Katina is gone."

"What?" Both Heads asked, confused by what that meant.

"Healer Katina is not at her address. Nothing is. Her house was sold last week and is presently empty. Wiped completely clean. And she did not leave a forwarding address," Federova said.

"Did you ask any of the other healers if they knew she was quitting?" Asked Hermione. "Or if she was planning on moving?"

"I did, and they all claim to have not known about her actions. Even her superior found her departure sudden, saying that three days ago she was speaking of spearheading a new method of embalming she planned to use here in the morgue."

"That sounds like a guilty person to me. I guess Poitier is looking less like a suspect," Draco said, sighing, then asked, "Do you know if Katina has any family?"

"There was no one listed in her paperwork, but I have someone looking deeper into her background as we speak."

"Bugger it all," Hermione said, irritated, standing to look out the window. Beyond was the bustling of the Muggles below, and she watched them move about absently, her mind mulling over the new information.

"I have the photos you requested," Federova said after letting her stew for a minute. He walked up to stand beside her, holding them for her to take. She did so, looking down at the three pictures that showed the rune behind Arlov's ear.

"Thank you, Inspector Federova, for all of your help with this," Hermione said, doing her best not to sound too disappointed.

"Please. Call me Pavel," he said, taking the witch by surprise. She didn't respond immediately and regretted it when her eyes moved to Draco, who didn't seem to be paying them any mind.

She smiled awkwardly up at Federova and nodded once. "Okay." He beamed at this, and she had to admit he had a very charming smile. She shook the observation away, and said, "Let's head back to Italy. We'll be of more use there. It will give your people time to find what they can on Katina."

****

Hermione was distracted upon returning to Abruzzo. Her mind was buzzing, thinking of where Katina could have gone; if she was who they had been looking for all along, or if it was some strange circumstance, and they were still missing something. It wasn't until she, Draco and Federova made it back to the clearing that she was fully pulled from her thoughts.

"Inspector Federova!" Dean greeted the Russian jovially. "It's very nice to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual, Inspector Thomas," Federova replied pleasantly, smiling at Dean as he took his hand and shook it. 

"Please. Call me Dean," he said. Federova nodded his response. "What brings you back?" Dean asked, looking to Hermione and winking. She gave him a bemused frown.

"Kuznetsov has given me leave to help you with your investigation," Federova answered.

"Smashing," Dean said with a nod and his most dashing smile. "I'm sure Head Granger here would find your insight helpful."

Hermione wondered how many of her fellow Heads she was going to punch that week once she witnessed Dean's grin he pointedly directed at her. She also saw Draco roll his eyes before walking away from them to get back to Rosalind and Larse.

Federova turned to her, asking, "What might I help you with, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked at him, confused as to how someone who exuded such confidence, self-control, and professionalism could be so kind and charming whenever he spoke to her directly. It was both disarming and refreshing if she was honest. And though she tried not to, she found herself comparing him to Draco; how the heir was all of the things Federova was, just not with her. Hermione knew better than to think of Federova as anything more than a temporary colleague, especially since her nights with Draco would be condemning enough, but she found herself wondering what her life would have been like if Draco looked at and treated her the way Pavel did. 

She wasn't sure how she felt about the Russian man, but she knew she at least liked him as a person. It might have been his willingness to take orders from her that had her thinking the way she was. It had taken years for Harry and Ron to learn they should listen to her. Federova knew better the second he saw her.

"Well," she finally began once she caught her bearings. "I think it would be best that we ask my second, Inspector Dane, what still needs to be done. I left him in charge while we were away."

Federova nodded, and said, "By all means, lead the way."

****  
The British team stayed in Italy overnight, if that is what you would call it. They were at the crime scene until well-passed midnight, every Auror in attendance having cast their Patronuses to shed bright flooding of light on the crime scene. Even with the straight sixteen hours on the scene, only two-thirds of the evidence had been collected. There were thousands of runes, all of which had to be photographed, organized by placement, size, meaning, and, finally, each tree on which they belonged and which section of the forest the tree was in. And that was just the runes. There were herbs, flowers, dirt, sand, mud, blood, paint, rocks, footsteps, and many other things that needed to be accounted for. They also needed to send the body for an autopsy. 

When they decided to call it a night, every last Auror was dead on their feet, and all were happy to get some sleep.

There was a moment where Hermione could tell that Federova was going to ask her to eat dinner with him or something like that, but he must have seen how tired she was and held back. But there was another moment, one that would have worried Hermione so much she would have stayed awake had not exhaustion won out, and that was when she considered going to Draco's room down the hall from her own in their hotel. It had occurred to her how well she'd slept next to him the night before, and she wanted to experience that level of rest once again. 

Then she slapped herself before putting on her nightclothes and crawling into her own bed and falling asleep within minutes.

The next morning saw the Aurors back at the crime scene at seven, cameras clicking, quills scratching, detectives theorizing, and at half-past one, they decided to close the scene and get back to their respective countries to begin pouring over evidence.

Before the nearly all-consumed Head of Homicide could begin her trek home, Federova stopped her at the edge of the crime scene, wishing her luck and telling her goodbye. He'd also told her that he would answer any questions she needed and continue to help her in any way she needed. He'd also told her that he would like to take her out for a celebratory dinner when they'd finally closed the cases.

Hermione had been caught off guard. She'd known he'd been wanting to say this for the past few days but hadn't. She'd nodded, saying, "Thank you." She hadn't known what else to say, aside from no, which, later, she realized would have been the best option. 

But this realization didn't come until she visited an old friend, and had an eye-opening conversation. 

It was a busy day, one Hermione was happy to Apparate away from at seven in the evening. Harry had instructed everyone to go home and get some rest, for the team was scheduled to be in Ireland the next day, Saturday or no.

The Head of Homicide had given the Head of Dark Arts a nod goodbye, which he had returned before leaving the DMLE. The two had spoken very few words to each other the past twenty-four plus hours, both so consumed with their duties that the chance never arose. But it hadn't kept her from thinking of him, of the two of them together. When she went to leave work, she considered saying something to him, but she didn't know what. Would she ask what his plans were for the evening? Ask him if he wanted to have dinner? She'd never done any of these things before, so she left. She went home, showered, changed, and walked to her living room, a destination in mind.

Hermione Floo’d to the Potter's unannounced but wasn’t worried about not sending a message ahead. She knew Harry and Ron were out having their bi-monthly pub crawl in Scotland, for it was the first Friday of the month, and it had been an eventful week. The two war heroes couldn’t do such a thing in England without being bombarded by fans or reporters, and even though Scotland wasn't fat behind, it wasn't England. So this meant that Ginny was likely home alone, so Hermione figured she had some time to visit her friend without the imposition of prying male ears.

“Hello? Anyone home?” she called out through the large house. 

After the couple had had James, they’d purchased a house in Godric’s Hollow. Harry still owned Grimmauld Place, had fixed it up after having the boys, and usually only used it for private parties or events. The new house, just a stone's throw away from Harry's parents' house, was nothing but warm, inviting, and bright. Quite the opposite of Grimmauld, even with the renovations.

“‘Mione, my love! Is that you?” Ginny called from the kitchen, and Hermione smiled, happy to hear a female voice after being in the presence of so many men all day. Rosalind only went so far in terms of estrogen, especially when one is dealing with Harry, Dean, Draco, Killian, and, to top it all off, Pavel Federova.

There was a sudden hubbub in the kitchen; the shriek and laughter of children, the scraping of chairs on the floor, and the stampeding of footsteps down the hall in the Head's direction. She saw Albus first, then James, who passed his little brother while also pushing him into the wall to get around him, the younger boy losing his footing and falling to the floor.

"Hey! Jamie! Muuuuum!" Albus cried angrily, standing quickly in the hallway to stamp his foot. James just grinned from ear to ear at his brother's expense, resembling his father, as well as his namesake, exuding mischievous joy as he reached Hermione. 

With arms that seemed longer than last she'd seen him, James wrapped her in a hug that lasted no more than two seconds, saying, "Hello, aunty!", before taking off and up the stairs with a laugh. Albus didn't even seem to notice her as he ran past, yelling at his elder brother about him being "a huge prat", and "a right wanker" and "a sodding prick".

Hermione knew the boys' uncle Ron had something to do with that. And, if not Ron, their mother for sure. And, as much as some may have frowned upon children swearing, there was a certain level of humor in hearing a five-year-old say prick.

Ginny made down the hall from the kitchen towards Hermione, giving a smile as large as her eldest offspring's, though far less chaotic. She closed the gap between them, leaning down to give Hermione a swift peck on the cheek, and with a jovial and somehow exasperated tone, she said, "Here. Take this. I made it for you." Ginny passed the not-yet-one-year-old Lily to Hermione before chasing after her sons, yelling, “Get your arse back here, son! James! What happened to Albus?"

Hermione looked down into the bright green eyes of the girl in her arms, who looked at her aunt's hair curiously before grabbing a strand and pulling it rather hard. And the girl continued to do so while Hermione listened to Ginny get the boys ready for bed. The Head walked up the stairs, and said goodnight to the boys, hugging them both as Ginny began to rock Lily to sleep. 

Once the boys' doors were closed, Ginny turned to Hermione, asking, "How are you doing? I'm so happy to see you! How was Greece?"

"It was lovely," was her answer, but she was bursting at the seems to tell Ginny about something far more pressing. In a serious tone, she added, "But… We need to talk."

Ginny's head tilted, and her eyes grew slightly wide, before saying, "Let me get this girl to sleep, and I’ll get the bottle."

It was another half an hour before Ginny bound into the kitchen to pull out some spiced rum from her hiding spot. She said she had to keep hidden away whenever Harry and Ron were hanging about, which was often.

"Ok. So. What is it? Give me the skinny," the red-head said, setting out two cups and pouring the dark liquid into them.

Hermione had been jittering the half-hour she'd been sitting in the kitchen in wait. She'd talked herself out of telling Ginny twice during that time, and knew she was about to again, so she grabbed both glasses, Ginny's included, and downed them both in quick succession. 

Ginny didn't even seem to care. Once the glasses were on the table again, she poured more into them. Hermione grabbed only one this time, drank the contents, and blurted, "Malfoy and I shagged."

"Fuck," was Ginny's gasped response.

The Auror didn't look up to see her friend's expression at first, her embarrassment palpable. But when she did look up she was surprised to see Ginny grinning like a madwoman. She was so mad she didn't pull her smiling blue eyes from Hermione's face or even blink, as she put the bottle to her lips to drink from it.

"That," Ginny began as she set the bottle down, "is fantastic news!"

Hermione glared, saying, "No! It isn't!"

"Was he any good?"

Hermione went silent and glared ever deeper because she wanted to lie and say no because she could tell that Ginny was far too excited about all of this already. The Auror knew this had been a possibility, but she had hoped to be admonished. Someone needed to be sane in this situation.

"He was!" Ginny practically cackled. "Holy shite! How did that happen?"

Hermione felt her head swim ever so slightly, the alcohol taking quick effect, and she said, "I don't even know, ok? We were… fighting. We bloody despise each other. We fight constantly."

"Oh. I know."

"And neither of us can be in the same room together without trying to piss the other off! Shagging shouldn't have even been a possibility!"

"Is now."

"He's absolutely terrible to me! I don't understand how this shite could have happened."

Hermione finished her short rant, and grabbed the other glass from the table, but didn't drink.

“I know you’re not dense, Hermione, but are you dense? He gave your pussy a monocle, and you still can’t see how this makes total sense.”

"He gave my arse one, too," Hermione admitted.

Ginny gasped, then gave a devilish grin. "You got glasses? You specky tart!"

Boy's club had nothing on girl's club, especially when one of said girls had been born into a boy club of Weasleys.

"I've noticed you like specky tarts," Hermione quipped.

"Sure do. Especially gorgeous ones with wild hair." Ginny reached over and lightly pulled one of Hermione's many curls, much like her daughter had. Mrs. Potter sat back, and with a sly smile she added, "Must be a Pureblood thing…"

“Ginny!" Hermione admonished loudly. "That is, on many levels, utter tosh. And Malfoy and I don’t fancy each other, ok? You can fuck someone you hate, you know. It’s called hate sex. We just… we…”

“You both think the other is highly shaggable. I should have figured! Two different times? It must have been fantastic because you have this stupid deer-in-the-wand-light look whenever I talk. Are you listening to me, or what, man?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing. She had been lost in space a few times, she could admit it, like she had been for days, thinking of Draco; his hands on her throat and in her hair; his rock hard prick pushed into her arse until his balls slapped her cunt; his tongue robbing her of air, the witch knowing, at that moment, that she could die a happy death on his cock.

“I think I need professional help, Gin," she said as she pushed the memories away. "I’m serious. Anger management. A therapist. Something! I mean, the first time, I hit him! Multiple times! And he slapped me! Then I let him tear my clothes off!”

“You’re a right nutter, that’s for sure,” Ginny agreed, then asked as she leaned in closer, “Then what happened?”

“I-” Hermione paused and looked to Ginny skeptically, then caved and gave her friend the abridged version of what had occurred, of what she was thinking of instead of focusing on work. The red-haired woman had been married for seven years, for God’s sake. With three fruits of the womb! Hermione could give her this.

“Wow…” Ginny said, then finished her drink in one gulp. “I’m not gonna be able to look at him the same now.”

“Join the club,” Hermione sighed, sitting back in her chair and staring at the liquid in her glass. She saw Draco's face in it and decided to down it so that the image of him could disappear.

"You had better watch yourself, 'Mione. You keep doing this and one of you is going to catch feelings." Hermione pulled a look of disgust. "It'll probably be him."

Hermione's mind flashed back to a certain memory of their night in Moscow, and she sighed.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, looking at her with concern.

"He… he told me he wanted to keep me in his bed forever."

Ginny gave a serious look, that lasted many silent beats, before saying, "Your cunny must be made of crystal balls or some shite because that prat is already seeing a future."

"What's this new obsession everyone has with my fanny?"

"It's awesome," Ginny said as if it was obvious. "Duh."

Hermione gave a thoughtful look, then nodded. "Probably. Yours is too, though. I mean, three kids!"

"Put her there," the red-head agreed, raising her glass. Hermione lifted her own to touch the glasses with 'tink'.

"So… You two going to have kids?"

"Gin!"

"Make sure to ask him to divinate that the next time he's down there."

"Next time?"

"You know there's going to be a next time. Forever, remember?"

"Why did I tell you again?"

"Because it's better than telling my husband."

"Blood of Christ! Please don't tell him. Not yet."

"Of course not! But you have to tell him eventually."

Hermione sighed deeply. "I know. I know." The Head sat back in her chair, thinking about how that particular conversation could go down, and then set her cup on the table to slide it along to her friend, who poured her another drink.

“So…” Ginny began after a minute of silence. “Who’s Federova?”

Hermione groaned, putting her face in one of her hands. “Did Harry tell you?”

“Yes. And, to be honest, I thought that he was who we were going to be talking about tonight. Harry told me that he seems into you, but he said you said you weren’t into him. Is it because of Draco?”

Hermione chewed her lip, the sound of Draco’s name bringing back the times she’d said his name while he’d been giving her orgasm after orgasm. She sighed deeply, because, even though she’d wanted to deny that she’d been averse to Federova’s advances due to her coworker, she knew that was precisely it. Every time he got too close, too friendly, her mind went to Draco, and she would recoil from the Russian as it burned her to be too close.

“Yes,” she admitted, then grew frustrated and yelled, “Fuck!”

“‘Mione! The kids are asleep,” Ginny chastised.

Hermione gasped and put a hand over her mouth apologetically. “I’m sorry! I just…”

“I know you’re sorry, and I know why you’re mad. You hate him. Or, hated him. Ok, maybe you still do, but there’s something else there, and you don’t like it. But… I like it. I think it makes sense, really. You spend a lot of your time thinking about him. He is the one guy you’ve been thinking about for a year. You talk about him every time we're together."

"I don't mean to," Hermione said apologetically. She hadn't realized she'd been doing so.

"Oh, be hush," Ginny chastised. "Let me finish." Hermione nodded, never able to disobey Ginny when she used her mum voice, which was rare when it came to her doing so with Hermione. "Draco is smart, ‘Mione, which I feel is mandatory for anyone you would choose to be with. He’s also really good at his job. Harry just boasts and raves about how knowledgeable and capable he is. He’s determined, accomplished, and he's changed quite a lot, as far as Harry, Ron,5t and I can see. These good qualities are all things that you are, and you deserve someone like him. It wouldn’t work otherwise. And, I have to add that he is gorgeous.”

“Gin…” Hermione sighed because she couldn’t deny any of it. She’d wanted to deny plenty, but she would have been speaking lies.

“I’m not saying you love him-”

“Oh. I don’t,” Hermione did interject here. 

“-But I think you should try it. And, if you do decide to take this further, you need to tell Harry.”

“Fuuuuuuck,” Hermione groaned. “It hasn’t even been a week, Ginny. There’s a huge case we’re trying to solve. I can’t start a relationship right now.”

“Too late, bitch," Ginny said, pouring them each another drink. "You did. Now you have to figure this out. So let’s get shitey. Cheers.” Ginny raised her glass, Hermione hers, and they drank together.

A moment passed in silence, and Hermione inwardly claimed the alcohol made her say it, but she muttered, "Draco likes my scars."

"Aaawww!! You mean he likes the things that made you wear a turtleneck dress as my maid of honour at a wedding we'd held in mid-August?" 

Hermione frowned at her. "You're particularly feisty this evening."

"I think it's sweet. You've always been so embarrassed about them. I, too, like them. I think they make you look like an unkillable badarse."

"I've noticed you like unkillable badarses," Hermione said with a smirk.

Ginny returned the smirk and leaned over and lightly tugged another of Hermione's curls.

****

By the time Hermione Floo'd home, she was more than tipsy, and it was probably the reason why she didn't mind finding Draco's owl perching with her own in the study. She'd heard the commotion of the two birds squawking at one another when the rushing of green flames died down behind her and had gone to investigate.

With a curious frown, she made to the room and saw the dark, looming presence of the Malfoy Eagle owl, the large bird dwarfing her own tawny owl, Bo'Degh. Draco’s owl seemed irritated at her as he held out his leg, the witch retrieving the letter from the platinum prat himself, unrolling it to read:

"Granger. Visit me at my manor.” 

Below were the instructions on how to Floo to his bedroom.

She frowned at the letter, rolling her eyes and throwing it into the rubbish pail before giving Draco's owl a treat, and strolled back to the fireplace, following her co-worker's instructions, not once thinking that she shouldn't, and not once noticing the other letter that sat on her desk from Inspector Garne.

The conversation she’d had with Ginny was a low whisper in her mind. She had no intention of having anything serious with Draco, but she had no intention of stopping it, either.

She stepped out of his fireplace and into his bedroom, a massive, posh chamber bedecked with expensive furnishings and accents and decor; grand paintings, curtains of green silk that reached from ceiling to plush carpet, black oak wood everything, and a bed large enough for six people against the wall farthest her. It made his hotel room in Russia look like shit, to be frank, and the drunk witch gave a loud, unflattering snort of disbelief. 

"Merlin's hairy testicles!" She said, looking around in awe, her hand coming up to set her palm on her forehead. "How the fuck does one live like this?"

"Happily," came Draco's voice from the bed. She jumped, for she was drunk enough to miss the man reclining in the grey covers, seeming to have been sleeping or about to. "You made it."

"I did. What do you need?" She asked, walking to the bed and flopping down, face first, onto the covers. "I've been drinking."

"I can tell."

"What the hell do you want this late at night?"

"I sent Hexis five hours ago."

"Well, I just got home."

"Gone to the pub?"

"Yup. Pub Potter. Saw Gin."

"How is she? Well, I hope."

"She's great. And even better after I told her about you."

There was silence, and then, "You told her?"

"Yup."

"The wife of our boss who has no clue what's happened, and who could potentially fire us for doing what we did?"

"Yup."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"Beyond reproach, remember?" She asked, face still in his fantastically soft comforter, her arm reaching up and bending at the wrist to point a finger at herself. She didn't think she was, but he'd mentioned something about how she thought of herself as such a few months ago and decided to throw it back at him.

He scoffed. "Right. I almost forgot."

"Oh, be quiet. I'm not. And don't worry. She promised she wouldn't tell him. She knows what could be at stake if she did."

Another moment's silence, wherein Hermione began to grow increasingly comfortable, and then he asked, "What did she have to say about it?"

"Oh! She's as happy as newly liberated pixies in a classroom full of second years and a fuckwit professor."

"Really?" He sounded slightly surprised.

"Oh, yes."

"Why so?"

"Fuck if I know. Probably because I haven't gotten laid in over a year. Or because she thought I'd end up just working every spare moment of my life instead of pursuing any of life's pleasures, or some other such thing she's told me before."

"You haven't gotten laid since before my promotion? No wonder you're such a cunt."

"Well? What's your excuse for being one? I imagine you get laid often."

"You imagine me getting laid often… often?"

She rolled her eyes. "You'd have to, right? I mean, you're a complete knob, but you don't look bad. I'm sure you have your pick of whatever inbred, "Pureblood" litter you want."

"Merlin, you're fucking drunk." He sounded a smidge offended.

"So?" She sighed heavily. She shouldn't have said that, but she couldn't help it. All of this had her very confused, and she was so used to being rude to him, it kind of just slipped out. Being drunk helped this nil. But then she remembered who she was talking to and shrugged off any guilt.

"What did you need me for, anyway?" She asked. "Unless your reason was for us to call each other cunts."

She heard him move, and a muttered Accio, and then he was sitting on the bed next to her, his weight shifting the mattress she could swear was made from clouds. Hermione flipped her hair out of her face as she looked up at him. She eyeballed the vial wearily.

"Sober-up potion," he explained. "Of my creation. Works instantly. You won't even need the loo."

The witch attempted to sit up, but failed, and opted to roll onto her back as she quickly snatched the vial from him. She then threw it somewhere off into a random corner of the room, and said, "I quite like my current state if you don't mind. Gin and I rarely get to drink together. And it's rare I blow off steam in this manner. But I will probably end up taking it later. Does it cure a hangover?"

"It even cures alcohol poisoning, which you may have. You're positively hammered."

Hermione looked up at him, and, because she was drunk enough, allowed herself to take him in without the shame of being impolite. He really was good looking. Even more so without his scowl and frown. His face was angular, pointy, practically elvish, and his eyes were the most unique color she'd ever seen on anyone; grey, yet pale, eery even. And his body… He had a spectacular body, his scarred torso showing in the firelight, for he was wearing a black pair of joggers identical to the ones from two nights ago, and that was all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" He asked, breaking her from her trance. 

Her eyes went up to his, peering into her own with an expression she couldn't read, and she shrugged, saying, "I don't know. Just… it's still strange for me to see you, you know, calm. Not being a complete arse to me."

"Is it so strange for us to be less cruel to one another, given the light of the situation?" He asked.

"It isn't normal," she said. "We don't like each other. Everyone could attest to that." She felt like she was trying to convince herself of what she was saying, and she didn't like the immense pool of doubt that grew in her mind.

"You don't need to like someone to shag them," he stated.

"Exactly!" She said, doubt gone, her hands going up to punctuate her point. "That is exactly what I told Ginny. She didn't seem convinced."

"Well, I'm convinced. Ginny Potter married her childhood sweetheart. Not to be rude or demeaning, but I wouldn't consider her an expert on any other kind of relationship than the ideal and perfect one."

"I, regrettably, agree with that," Hermione admitted. "She dated Dean back in the day, but not long enough to be an expert. And we all know how things are going with him." Draco smirked lightly, though he said nothing. "But don't tell her I said that. She'd probably ground me or something."

There was a minute's easy silence before Draco ruined it by asking, "So. Speaking of perfect, how's Pavel?"

Hermione laughed at him, loudly and drunkenly, slapping his arm playfully as she said, "Come off it! Perfect!? Hardly! I mean, I like the bloke, but I don't fancy him. Are… are you jealous?" She almost didn't ask, because she was pretty sure she knew the answer, even though she didn't know how to take it.

"Not at all," was his reply. He sounded nonchalant, which seemed about as guilty as if he'd gotten offended.

"I mean, green has always been your colour, right?" She taunted him, still smiling.

"I'm not jealous," he stated, his voice tinged with anger. She noted this emotional response, but couldn't help herself, continuing to harass him.

"It's alright," she said. "I don't blame you. I'd be jealous, too. Those trousers of his leave very little to the imagination, if you ask me. You can see his-"

He was on her, his lips on hers, in an instant, nearly crushing her mouth in an attempt to keep her from finishing her sentence. She had to smile against his lips because this only confirmed her suspicion.

Why that made her happy, she didn't know. And she wouldn't remember having this conversation with him until later the next day and remembering only made her more confused.

Draco's hands moved up under her jumper, to hold onto the small of her waist, but didn't attempt to remove it. He simply rubbed his thumbs against the skin and scars he found there, his touch much lighter than the searing kiss he was using to take her breath away. 

She didn't know if it was the alcohol or anticipation or familiarity, but Hermione never once thought that she should stop him. All she could think of was how she wanted him. Badly. She wanted his touch, the one that claimed her, and she was sure to tell him she felt so by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding him to her.

He took her sign and wrapped his arms around her to lift her from the foot of the bed and move her to the head, setting her down so he could reach for the hem of her jumper and lift it over her head, then did the same for her shirt. When it was gone, she reached behind herself and unclasped her bra, throwing it somewhere by the vial of Sober-Up.

Before she could remove any more of her clothing, or even go for the band of his joggers, he grabbed her by the wrists and pushed her back onto the bed, straddling her waist while he held her hands above her head as far as they could go. He bent low, attaching his mouth to her left nipple, and Hermione hissed through her teeth before smiling and whimpered as her hips began to press up against his thighs.

He nipped her sensitive bud, soothed it with his tongue, and pulled with hard sucks. He bit the under the swell of her breast, and licked a trail over to the other by way of her sternum, before appreciating her other nipple; swirling the tip of his tongue around and around before suddenly sucking and tugging, the witch moaning loudly in response. 

When Draco seemed satisfied by this, the drunken witch consumed in a fog of booze and pleasure, he decided to keep teasing her with his mouth, skimming smooth lips and pearly teeth and hot tongue over the scars on her stomach and hips, and as he went lower, he was forced to release her wrists, his palms trailing down her arms to her ribs. He gripped her tightly as he began to bite her protruding hip bones, accentuated by her being on her back, and she tried to hold it in, but failed, and began to laugh. He was tickling her, and she struggled against him, putting her recently released arms on his shoulders to push him away, but he kept biting until she was in hysterics. 

"Draco!" She managed between laughter, "Stop! It's unbearable!"

He bit her one last time, and then complied, sitting up straight to look down at her. This was when he began to appreciate her skin with his hands, running them up and down her sides, her arms, a palm ran down the space between her breasts, then back up again to wrap lightly around her throat.

"I like your laugh," he said. She gave him a strange look, for she thought this an odd thing to say, but didn't think much more about it when he began to kiss her again, his hand squeezing a little tighter as he held her down and kissed her deeply, passionately.

She brought her arms up and around his back, the scars of his curse under her palm, and she took the time to feel him and found that she liked the texture of his scars. It was a strange sensation, but she liked it, and that was strange in and of itself, considering how she still felt about her own.

In a sudden second, he rolled them, the witch now on top. She was steadier than she'd been minutes earlier, so she was continued to feel him. She returned his earlier favor, running her hands along all of the skin she could find on him. It felt intimate, especially when they locked eyes when her hands slowly rolled down the definition of his muscled abs, and when she traced the 'v' at his waist to the hem of his pants, which were now an inch above the hem of his joggers, which concealed the large bulge of his arousal. 

She shimmied down to where she straddled his upper thighs and leaned down to put her lips to the defined muscles of his hips, and left a few slow kisses, then gave a bite. He flinched, but only just, and she looked up at him to find him smirking.

"Don't stop on my account," he said, and she took his advice. 

Hermione had thought his dick had been hard when she'd first started teasing him, but the tip of her tongue tracing the band of his pants made his cock twitch strongly against its confines. She smirked up at him at this, and he matched her expression, and the woman kept her eyes to his and she repeated the action, watching his mask crack and his eyes became hooded and he bit his lip. This urged her on, his look of pleasure and anticipation, the witch dismounting to stand on the floor between his legs to undo and kick off her trousers, leaving her black knickers, and then worked his joggers and pants off of him to heap on the floor. His cock sprang up and hit him in the stomach, purple and dripping.

She climbed back on top of him, setting her wet knickers on his cock. Her hands went back to feel the muscles of his chest, and her hips began to move slowly, rubbing herself, slowly, along the length of him. 

Draco gasped at the pressure and friction, his hands going to hips instantly to help her along, to hold her down against him. 

"You're a tease, Granger,"

"Oh, Malfoy. You know that isn't entirely true," she said with a smile. "You know I'm willing to do more than tease you."

He smirked. "I suppose I do." 

She rocked on him a few more times, basking in the feel of his length and hardness against her pussy and clit, anticipating the moment that he would sink every inch into her cunt, the muscles of which were clenching with need. When she let her head fall back, moaning loudly as her clit pressed against the underside of his tip, he said, "Fuck this," and used his grip on her hips to push her over onto the bed.

He tore at her knickers, pulling them down off her legs and tossing them aside, and instead of inserting his dripping prick into her, he bowed between her legs and began to suck, hard, on her clit.

Hermione's back bowed instantly, her hands lost in sheets, white knuckles, as a loud cry left her. His hands moved up behind her knees to push them up to her chest. Her back was on the mattress once more as he continued to push her legs until her arse was lifted off the bed, and he began to move his mouth up and down; his tongue between her folds, tonguing her arse, and back up to suck on her clit. 

"Merlin's fucking-" she stopped because she couldn't form anymore words. His mouth took more and more of her vocabulary every time he alternated from spot to spot, to where she was only left with wanton sounds of pleasure. The sounds grew when he wetted two fingers at her entrance and slipped them in, turning his palm skyward to beckon at her g spot. 

She couldn't think anymore, not beyond the intense pull of pleasure at Draco's finger and lips were still sucking and flicking at her hungrily. He seemed like a madman, working her harder and harder until she couldn't take it anymore.

Hermione screamed her ecstasy, her hips gyrating against his face, her peak lasting longer than any she'd had before, for he didn't let up until her body gave out and fell slack.

He had her on her knees in seconds flat, the witch still trembling and shaking in the aftermath of her zenith, and set his prick at her entrance to coat the tip in her juices before pushing himself into her a few inches. With a few strokes, he was engulfed in her, and Hermione began to experience the stretch that only his cock had been able to give her. Goosebumps that hadn't had time to subside from her orgasm were given new electricity, heightening her sensitivity; her temperature spiked, her thighs shook harder, her back arched and her hips moved back against him. A high-pitched gasp left her when he bottomed out, something she never imagined could feel so good and still hurt, because his cock reached and touched places previously hidden, even to her.

Draco gave a noise that was half groan, half sigh, he too was relieved to finally be fully engulfed by her. She hadn't meant to tease him, but if this was how he was going to treat her afterward, she didn't regret it. Another release wasn't far away, something that grew closer and closer as he started to shag her like he never had before, saying things to her that she would have said herself if she hadn't needed to put her face in the covers for stability.

"I wanted to shag you in Federova's office so bloody bad." … "I had to keep myself from pulling you into a lav at the office today and fucking you in a stall." … "Fuck, your pussy loves taking my cock, doesn't it? Doesn't it, love?"

"Yes. Yes! My pussy loves taking your cock, Draco. I love it. I need all of it," Hermione quickly pleaded in response.

"Does your arse want more attention?" He asked while rubbing her arsehole with the pad of his thumb.

Hermione nodded, her greedy holes clenching at the thought. "Yes, please. Finger my arse."

He did. He prepped a large finger with the wetness of her pussy, and pushed it into her arse roughly. She gasped in pained delight, and pushed back against him, welcoming hard thrusts from his cock and his palm-deep thumb that he worked in time with his cock. 

That was all it took for the witch to lose her mind. She was like an animal, pushing back against him quickly, groaning through gritted teeth, gasping, and finally screaming once more when his dick and finger pushed against two places inside of her that served as a catalyst when touched simultaneously. 

Her orgasm hit her so hard and so suddenly that she saw lights in her vision as her lids closed tight, and her legs became too unreliable to hold her trembling weight. He didn't stop, not even as she fell forward, the witch being wracked with wave after wave of immense ecstasy; Nirvana a tangible place at that moment.

When she did go still, Draco pulled out of both of her orifices and flipped her onto her back. He grabbed one leg and placed it over her shoulder, leaning over her until her knee was near her ear, and pounded her relentlessly. The other hand came up and lost itself in the back of her hair, pulling until her chin pointed at the ceiling.

"Merlin, Hermione. Fuck," he swore, and his thrusts became harder, stronger, scooting the witch back along the bed in his frenzy. 

He swore into her neck before biting down on the skin of her collarbone, Hermione hissing in a welcome pain, his grip in her hair tightening as he pushed himself into her to the hilt and stilled. He slowly pumped in and out of her as he came, his cock pulsing nine or ten times before it stopped.

His grip on her hair was the first thing he relented, and then his mouth on her neck, and finally, he pulled out, the both of them moaning or gasping at the shock and sensitivity. He fell onto the bed beside her as she closed her eyes and caught her breath, reveling in the delicious warmth of his cum slipping from her cunt, down the crack of her arse, to the heavenly duvet below.

"Accio Sober Up," he suddenly said, his hand rising to catch the potion that flew up from the floor. "Here." He passed the vial to her, and she sat up enough to imbibe it, noting her intoxication leaving her within seconds. Clarity set in, and Hermione recognized the effects of the alcohol left her. "And this." He conjured a glass of water, passed it to her, and she down it as well before banishing the glass. 

"Thank you," she sighed gratefully, and he gave her a, "Mmhm," in return.

There were five minutes of silence between them, wherein Hermione thought about many things- work, talking with Ginny, her willingness to visit his home in the middle of the night- staring up at the ceiling, his arm around her shoulder, her left leg thrown over his right. 

He was the one who broke the silence, asking, "Do you think we'll figure this case out?"

Hermione sighed lightly and said, "It's either that or our killer figures out the ritual and runs off with their rune-covered boyfriend."

The two were quiet again until he said quietly, "If anyone could figure it out, it would be you."

Hermione sighed and sat up, looking at the fire and planning her escape. They were getting extremely comfortable at the moment, something Hermione told herself- for she still warred within her mind- that they may want to avoid. "I'm going to go."

"You don't have to," he said, and she looked back at him. He seemed to regret his words because he looked away from her and rubbed his face with an open palm. But he didn't say anything else.

"Malfoy," for he was 'Malfoy' when he wasn't shagging her, "I… don't think that's a good idea. I… why… I mean. Just a few days ago I almost killed you with my bare hands. Tonight you're offering to share a bed."

"It was just an offer."

"We're just shagging."

"I didn't mean anything by it."

"Then what did you mean?" 

She wanted to know. He looked like he was fighting with himself as well. Was he thinking the same things as she was: "We're enemies. We don't like each other? But I want to stay, and I want this to continue. But I know that it shouldn't."

"It means," his arms reached out and grabbed her, pulling her back to him, the witch seeming to weigh nothing as he moved them under the covers as he said, "Shut up and go to sleep, Granger."

"I am not staying," she said defiantly, though was not quick to pull away from the comfort of his hold or the covers. 

"You waited too long. Shut up. Close your eyes," he said. He snuggled further into his pillows, bringing her with him.

"Malfoy," she warned half-heartedly. She was exhausted if she were honest, and the thought of a deep and gratifying sleep beside him was so very tempting.

She didn't need, and shouldn't, get used to sleeping next to him. No matter what it was that was going on between them, sleepovers should not have been so easy to fall into.

But they were.

"Goodnight, Granger," he said sleepily.

He pulled her closer to him, her back to his, and it wasn't a minute later she heard his breathing change as he fell asleep. She rolled her eyes, then did so again when the blonde woke up long enough to pull her closer to him as she tried to escape his grasp some minutes later. 

She finally gave in, leaving her to sigh deeply as she closed her eyes, body relaxing, and before she could say "Avada Kedavra", she fell into a dreamless sleep.

****  
Hermione awoke to Draco kissing her neck, feather-light caresses of his lips on the coolness of her skin, and, what with being newly conscious, she didn't mind at all. She welcomed it, turning her head to expose more of her neck for him to nibble and lick and suck at. 

His arms were around her, holding her to the heat of his chest, one of his hands massaging a breast, his cock already hard and jutting in between the globes of arse and the gap between her thighs. With a lazy grasp, she reached back between them, and gripped and stroked him lightly, which earned her a deep moan and caused him to push further into her palm, shuddering against her.

She adjusted herself just enough to where she could lead him into her sore quim, wincing as he pushed himself through the swollen folds to nestle within her heat. She sighed as the pain and soreness subsided with each slow thrust, and he resumed kissing her shoulder as he moved, his arm around her middle pulling her ever closer to him.

All Hermione could do was relish in her bliss; let her pleasure take her out of her groggy, sleep-fuzzed brain and into Saturday morning. Fighting against him, them, whatever they were, was far from her mind.

He was sucking her neck, pumping into her, holding her tightly, and the witch was lost in the feeling of being slow fucked. When the hand on the arm on which she was laying reached up and grabbed her by the front of her throat, and the other roughly grabbed her hip, he began to go even slower, seemingly repaying her for the torture of the night before. However, she couldn't bring herself to complain. It felt too good- he felt too good, too warm, too right- for her to be upset that he was taking his time with her.

"Your cock feels so good," she said. "It keeps-" she paused to cry out as he pressed her g-spot, "-hitting all of the perfect spots."

"Is that right?" He asked, voice husky from sleep.

"Mm-hm. It feels amazing. Please, don't stop."

"Do you want me to go faster, Hermione?"

For a few moments, she didn't answer him, enjoying every inch, before saying, "Yes, Draco. I do. Please."

She didn't know what it was about him fucking her that had her pleading so regularly.

He did as she wanted, grabbing the leg lying atop the other in her sideways position and lifting it so he could have better access and picking up the pace. She leaned back against him, his face in his hair, the wizard nuzzling into it happily, his grip still on her throat tightening every time he went faster and faster.

Hermione was already so responsive, due to the night prior, that she could feel her climax building once he began to choke her; the witch fighting for air as pressure built in her core, not minding at all that he didn't allow her adequate breath. It made it all the better. Whenever he would let up slightly, and she took a deep gasp, it only heightened her senses and made her more sensitive. 

"What have you done to me, witch?" He asked, his breath on the back of her ear. "I can't get enough of you."

Hermione smiled for but a second before he gripped her throat tighter once more. She knew how he felt. Despite everything, even with the witch fighting her decisions mentally every other minute, she couldn't get enough of what it felt like to be in his arms and to have him please her so completely and thoroughly. 

She reached one hand back to hold onto the back of his neck, and croaked, "I can't get enough of you. Make me cum, Draco."

He let go of her leg, the witch now holding herself open for him, and reached around her lifted thigh to play with her clit, giving it firm, circular strokes, fingers wetted with her excitement. He picked up the pace, hips snapping forward to slap against her arse, as best he could, and rubbed her nub quicker and quicker, and she knew if he kept up she would get what she asked for.

"Mmmm! Draco!" She managed through his hold. "I'm com-" 

Her words were cut off by her throaty groan, a deep, rolling climax started in her thighs and engulfed her core, her back arching, pleasure forcing her body still. Draco kept moving in and out of her, dragging her pleasure to the brink, and when he stopped rubbing her clit to hold her thigh tightly, she knew he was coming too, spilling into her with a loud growl in her ear.

"Circe's tits, Malfoy," Hermione panted when he let her go, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She tried to adjust, only to be stopped by the pain between her legs. "I need a pain draught."

"Do you have a hangover?" He asked as if the idea of her having one after his potion was inconceivable.

She smirked. "No. It's… for my..." She paused, not sure why she couldn't say the word 'pussy' when his cock wasn't in it.

She heard him chuckle, and she slapped him playfully on the arm. "Whatever the lady desires," he said, sounding very proud of himself. "How about some breakfast as well? Accio pain draught."

Hermione nodded at him at the idea of food as a vial flew into his hand from the crack in what she assumed was a closet door. He passed it to her, and she pulled the cork to drink it. 

"Ah, fuck," Malfoy said loudly and suddenly, the witch turning to him quickly in surprise, mouth full of potion. "Breakfast will have to wait. It's bloody nine o'clock!"

"What?!" Hermione's voice verged on a shriek as she sat up and looked at his bedside clock, and confirmed it was indeed 9 o'clock, and they were late for work. What happened to her that she hadn't even cared to check what time it was? What happened to her that she didn't wake up to her alarm? She was rarely late. Only when she was sick, on two separate accounts, before her promotion. 

The both of them jumped out of bed, Hermione dressing with her clothes from the floor, Draco taking long strides to the closet while flicking his wand to start a shower. 

When she was finished dressing, Hermione called through the door of the ginormous walk-in he'd disappeared into, "I'll meet you at the office."

"Wait," he called back, and she did, watching as the tall, bare man walked to her, pulled her to him, and held her as he kissed her.

Before she could push him off of her, it was over, and he stepped back as he said, "You're an arsehole, Granger."

For a moment, she was surprised by his words, then saw the small smile on his lips. She matched it as she wordlessly Summoned her wand to her hand, saying, "Rot in hell, Malfoy."

****

Part 3  
Fin

A/N: I have two womb fruits. If I ever have a third, someone please tie my tubes IMMEDIATELY afterward. Thanks in advance!


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